Tattoo
by Phish Fobia
Summary: Fluffy. Written for Armchair Slash art/fic challenge. Rated PG-13 for booze and snogging in various states of undress.


Title: Tattoo

Author: Phish Fobia

Email: phish_fobia@hotmail.com

Artist: Bethany

Rating: PG-13 for booze and snogging in various states of undress.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This is sort of plot-less, and unbeta'd, since I'm just too damn lazy (I know, but I'm giving up laziness for Lent) This was written for the Armchair Slash February art/fic challenge, inspired by Bethany's art. A big big thanks goes to the Bacardi company for their lovely lemon rum; I've written a lot of this under its influence. Thanks God for automatic spellcheck, it's all I'm sayin'.

  
  
*** 

"Goodness! Is that a woman's dress?"

"I beg to differ, Ron. This is very much a man's dress."

Ron shook his head incredulously. His best friend and flatmate stood in front of a mirror in a pale green taffeta gown with a sequin flower motif, a bottle of Bacardi rum in his left hand. He was arranging matching pale green feathers in his hair with the other hand, looking very smug.

"You have to admit, Ron," he said, admiring the result in the mirror, "pale green really suits my complexion."

"Sequins?"

Harry grinned and hit him over the head.

"You're just jealous 'cause you never get to dress up. That's cause nobody likes you and you're never invited. Ow, mind the hair!" 

"I am NOT jealous," muttered Ron indignantly. "And at least I have some dress sense. I mean, look at you! This is a sequin gown! What the hell are you going to do, anyway? Dance around a maypole with your faggy friends?"

"It's called a _masquerade_, Ron, darling," he adjusted his hair. "You should really get out more, by the way. Maybe you'd be less uptight."

He shot one last satisfied glance at the mirror and, after blowing a kiss in Ron's general direction, pranced out of the apartment.

Ron sighed and put his heavy shopping bags down on the brown, tiled floor. Sometimes he wished his friend were less flamboyant, that he partied less. Ever since the Dark Lord's defeat Harry's nights were taking cocaine and dancing till dawn, as though he really didn't care what happened to him. 

He remembered the times he had to go to various police stations all over London, half-asleep, to fetch his friend, who often didn't even remember his own name. In a way, Ron could understand why Harry was doing this; after all the pressure he had been under, he was like a spring, released after having a hard weight press too long on it. But sometimes he was taking it too far.

According to Ron, this wasn't a way of spending a life. Even if one was the Boy Who Lived.

* * *

Draco Malfoy plopped down gracefully in a soft, bouncy armchair, and then, frowning, tried to stop the bouncing caused by said plopping down. The contents of his glass were thankfully still in their place. He really didn't feel like going for another drink across the whole room filled with stupidly dressed, prancing people. 

He started feeling gloomy. Really, really Gloomy, and slightly Depressed, too.

'And this is supposed to be the cream of the crop of London's wizarding society,' he thought bitterly, watching Seamus Finnigan, a poor Bowie imitation (tight leather pants, copper-red wig, pink feather boa and glittery make-up) chase Cho Chang the penguin around the room making ridiculous screeching noises. At the buffet table Blaise Zabini changed into a penguin, courtesy of some new twisted Weasley prank.

Draco sighed, wallowing in self-pity and looking haughtily at the hoard of immature adults. The thought that he had once attended the same school as them was still slightly frightening, if not embarrassing. But he had changed a lot since then. They, visibly, have not.

"Heeeey, Malfoy," shouted Finnigan at the top of his lungs, waving his arms in an extremely irritating way. "What's your costume?"

He downed the rest of his drink, put the empty tall glass next to the armchair, and decided to get out of this place for some time. He was really in no mood for making small talk with Finnigan, out of all people.

He turned around ostensibly and headed to the bathroom. Seamus, left behind, looked sulky.

"Snobbystupidstuckupbastard," he muttered, and then went over to the bar to get another drink.

* * *

One side of the bathroom was entirely occupied with cubicles, the other one, high mirrors hovering magically above sinks. The room had a very interesting oval shape, and Draco was slightly surprised. He had never, until now, been in a bathroom with curvy walls.

What surprised him even more than the unusual shape of the room was the tangle of limbs and brightly colored fabric that was squished at the far end of it, next to the radiator. Upon squinting a little bit, he realized that the tangle in question was composed of two human beings of unidentifiable gender, both of them indeed very busy with each other. He sighed and went over to a sink, and splashed some cold water over his face. The noise distracted one of the people from their current task of suffocating the other person with their tongue, and they both looked up at him. He chose that exact moment to throw up violently all over the sink.

His lunch was still spilling out of his mouth in a quite appalling manner, and someone was next to him, with one hand to his shoulder. Once he was done, he washed his face once more and turned around, a polite apology already forming on his lips. Then he started as though smashed in the face with a very, very heavy brick.

"Potter?" he said, remembering his manners as he realized he was staring.

"Whom were you expecting, Severus Snape?" quipped a voice from behind Potter's back. He was still gaping at him with an open mouth. He was quite sure he would start drooling in a moment. Potter began to fidget nervously, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

"Is.. Is that a _dress_?" he asked weakly, gingerly touching his stomach. It now began to lurch dangerously, so he dashed out to the closest cubicle without waiting for an answer. He was shuddering, and his stomach was in pain. He was also beginning to feel quite faint. 

"Eugh," he said, upon stumbling out of the stall.

"Umm... do you want me to call up a cab or something?" Potter asked, uncertainly. Draco was having a hard time focusing his eyes on anything. 'What a pretty shade of green,' he thought.

"Why are you wearing a dress, Potter?" he mumbled, his throat sore.

"Yes, I think I'll call a cab," Potter said wryly, and proceeded to turn around. But Draco didn't catch that last remark, completely unrelated to his question by the way. He would have been outraged by it, too ['nobody ignores a Malfoy!'], had he not been too busy laying unconscious on the floor.

"Bah," said Harry's snog partner. He was wearing a dress as well, had a small face and dark blond hair. His pale blue eyes peeked up at Malfoy's inanimate form, and he bent over and prodded him with a curious finger. "Say, is this Draco Malfoy?"

"Yeah," he answered, absent-mindedly. "Say, Colin, will you clean this mess up for me? I gotta do something."

"But, _Harry_," he wailed, to no avail. Harry was already out of the bathroom, Malfoy in his arms.

"Stupidstupidstupid!" Colin Creevey shouted, kicking a curvy wall.

"Having a bad day, dear?" asked his reflection from a nearby mirror. Colin groaned, picked up a mop and proceeded to clean up Malfoy's mess. 'I wonder if this could be called an abusive relationship,' he mused, wrinkling his nose slightly. He then smacked his head loudly with a hand, pulled out his wand, and magically cleaned the mess up. 

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asked the nearby mirror, anxiously. It just grinned sympathetically at him and remained silent.

* * *

His head was spinning. The last thing he could remember was hitting his head on something cold and hard, and seeing a flash of pale green. He wondered what was responsible for the faint feelings of annoyance and arousal in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if he was hung over. 

After carefully opening an eye, letting the dim, artificial light in and not experiencing head-splitting pain, he decided with some relief that he was not. He sighed happily [he was laying on a very soft bed and someone was stroking his head], and closed his eyes. That hand made him feel curiously safe and warm, something he had not felt in quite some time. So of course he had nothing against the fact that the owner of the hand was getting under the covers of the bed with him, and when he was finally under, draped one hand casually over his waist. He sighed once again, and let himself fall asleep.

* * *

Back at the party, Colin was getting slightly bored. He had been with Harry since less than a week, and was already ditched for Malfoy. 'Life sucks,' he thought gloomily, and prodded his piece of apple pie. He wallowed in his sad thoughts for a little longer, until Seamus Finnigan sat down next to him.

"Having a nice time?" Seamus slurred. 

"Meh," Colin said, continuing his prodding. "Life sort of sucks, you know?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I see where you're coming from." They sat in silence for a little while, looking thoughtfully at their drinks.

"Say, don't you think this party's a bit boring?" Seamus asked with a sudden wicked glint in his eye.

Colin looked up, recognized the glint, and lightened up. He nodded, they both got up and headed to the bathroom.

'Well, life isn't _that_ bad, after all,' he thought hours later, looking down at the man laying next to him in the bed. He tucked a stray bit of hair behind his ear, and started dressing up. He wrote a little note for Seamus to find when he woke up, took his bag, and slowly walked out. He needed to go for a walk. 

* * *

The hand was there for the whole night, he felt like it was a blanket of safety every single time he woke up, its warmth like a tattoo on his waist. Therefore he was not very happy when he woke up in the morning without its reassuring weight pressing on his side. He hissed in annoyance and opened his eyes, and was about to demand that the hand be placed in its previous position, when he noticed the pale green dress.

"Oh, you've woken up, finally," a voice drawled lazily.

"Potter?!" he leaped up from the bed. He noticed he was only wearing his underwear, blushed, and quickly jumped back under the cover. "Where the Hell am I? What are you doing here? Why am I half-naked?"

"Oh," Potter said, a pout on his lips and a playful glint in his eye, "you mean you don't remember?"

"Wh-What?!" he spluttered. "No. Don't tell me we've... We haven't..." he was searching for the right word in a most undignified manner. "Please tell me that we haven't–"

"Fucked each other like animals?" Potter finished for him succinctly. "Well, we could have..." he grinned at the anxious look on Malfoy's face, "but you were, how to say, too passed out."

"I passed out?" he said, looking incredulous. "But I never pass out."

"Well," Potter teased, "there is a first time for everything, right?"

Draco looked at his surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a rather expensive hotel room. The big king-size bed he was laying in was in the middle of the room, the walls were adorned with gilt and many mirrors. In front of the bed stood a sofa with a red velvet cover and a heavy-looking mahogany table, and there were high French windows to his right. The curtains had a most off-putting flowery print, but except for that, the room radiated wealth, the kind of wealth he was used to, after all.

"So we haven't... done anything, right?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Nope," Potter swung his legs to one side of an expensive-looking armchair. A few moments later he was snoring, his chest going up with every regular intake of breath. 

Draco took a good, close look at him. He was still wearing that strange, pale green dress, and had some fluffy hair accessories stuck in his black hair as well. He actually looked pretty adorable, Draco thought. The pale green really suited him, his pallid skin and his shock of ink-black hair looked somehow more vivid next to it. He had a slightly effeminate build, lean but muscular and rather lithe, with narrow shoulders and a faint curve of a waist - the build of a Seeker. He was taking it all in, thinking about all the things that could have happened yesterday night had he not been too passed out, as Harry had put it.

"Would you please quit staring?" said Harry, startling him. "It's sort of creepy."

"I am NOT staring," he said stubbornly, covering his consternation with a little cough. "Say, wouldn't you prefer to sleep in the bed? There's enough place for both of us." Harry looked up curiously at him. "If it doesn't bother you, of course," he added hastily.

Harry laughed. "If that's what you want," he said lightly.

"It's not that I _want_ it," Draco quickly replied, and turned his head to one side, for Harry was starting to take the dress off. "It's just that I think the bed's more comfortable than... an armchair..." his voice trailed off. Harry stood in front of him clothed in nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. His heart rate doubled up, he felt a blush creeping up on his shoulders and a faint tug at his stomach.

"Move off a little bit," he ordered, and Draco complied.

'What the hell am I doing?' he asked himself. 'I'm sleeping with Harry bloody Potter wearing nearly nothing, and we haven't even snogged.' In a moment it didn't matter though, for Harry had fallen asleep and his hand was placed firmly on Draco's waist, and everything was alright with the world.

"Christ," he whispered, "I think I'm in love."

The other man scuttled closer to him now, and Draco sighed, and started drifting off to sleep as well.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me it wasn't your room?!"

"It was just a room! I thought I'd let you wake up and we'd get out of there."

Draco hissed in annoyance. His sleep had been most rudely interrupted by the screams of the rightful owner of the room when he came in and noticed the two people in his bed. They have been chased out of it as soon as they had put their clothes on. Draco had a hard time concealing his blush from everyone, but Harry looked amused. 

Right now they were walking through Primrose Hill, heading to Harry's apartment. Somehow Draco really didn't feel like going to his own just now. They walked silently, in measured steps, basking in the moonlight and breathing in the fresh, cold air.

The moonlight tinted everything with an unearthly glow, from every single twig of grass to Draco's long, silvery hair. It looked like a halo on his small head, and Harry caught himself staring. He slowed down, and caught Draco's sleeve. He turned around, and Harry thought he saw a glimmer of excitement pass in his eyes. Harry decided it was worth taking the risk, caught him by the shoulders, and kissed him.

* * *

Colin Creevey sighed happily. After all, Harry going away with Malfoy wasn't such a bad thing. Thanks to that he had met up with Seamus, who seemed much more interested in him than Harry had ever been. He skipped around merrily, entering Primrose Hill, his photo camera ready for capturing the sheer ethereal beauty only a night in London could have.

He walked around the park, steadying his camera. He wanted to take a shot of a squirrel, he knew there were a lot of them in this park. He hid behind a tree, waiting for one to show up.

He wasn't really expecting to see Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy snog passionately in the middle of the next alley. Harry seemed much more into it than he had ever been with him, he thought bitterly. He watched them kiss with a strange sort of curiosity, and arousal. He always had slight voyeuristic tendencies, after all. When he finally reached for his camera to take a snapshot of the pair, it was over. He felt slightly disappointed, and continued watching.

They were talking now, their heads bent in each other's direction. He could see a soft smile on Malfoy's face as he nodded slightly. They continued talking for a while, and then Colin remembered he had a camera. He quickly took a picture of the two men. 

They looked very much like at Hogwarts, wearing black cloaks and scarfs in their House colors. Both had rather dreamy smiles, their shoulders were linked, and Malfoy's head was slightly cocked to lean against Harry's. Harry's glasses reflected the light from the flash and his red scar stood out vividly against his pale forehead. 

Colin felt a slight twinge of jealousy, and thought about following them and taking more compromising pictures, but thought about Seamus and how he was meant to be over Harry. He shook his head and headed back to Seamus' house, forgetting everything about his squirrels.

* * *

The first rays of sunshine started seeping through the terrible curtains Harry had over his windows, casting long shadows on the walls and the floors. He didn't have such bad decorative taste, Draco thought. Except, of course, for the curtains. 'I should ask him to change them, maybe,' he mused. After all, he fully intended to visit him more often after last night.

He smiled and snuggled closer in the warm embrace of the man behind him, his black hair tickling his ears. He loved being like this, warm and carefree. He felt isolated from the outside world and its violence, its stupid Finnigans and cocktail parties. It was as though the warmth Harry radiated was forming a tight envelope around them, and no one could marr their happiness.

Harry tightened his hold on his waist, and he realized he had a goofy grin plastered all over his face.

'Merlin, I got it bad,' he thought.

Then someone opened the door to the room. A bright red head poked in the room, and Malfoy knew instantly who it was.

"Weasley?!" he jumped out from the covers, remembered that all his clothes had been thrown all over the room the night before, and promptly jumped back in, his cheeks a wild bright red color. 

Weasley groaned and got out of the room, muttering "I don't wanna know." Draco sighed contentedly and snuggled back into Harry's embrace. He wasn't sleeping anymore, and started nibbling on his ear. His hand was still on his waist, and it felt like a tattoo, burnt under his skin.

"Morning, gorgeous," Harry whispered. He started stroking his hand. "You know we're gonna have to tell Ron."

"Mmm-hmm." This was going to be a long day.

~end~


End file.
